So Quite New
by horchatita394
Summary: He closed his eyes and wished not for the first time that he could be both less and more; less bulk and more substance, less force and more skill, less nerves and more momentum.  The poem laced through out is by e.e. cummings.


He never liked his body. He spent extra hours at the gym and tried to make his large clumsy body something strong and powerful and useful. He joined football and let the body he disliked give him some sort of purpose. A big wall of football player was just that, a wall.

He liked to watch the men dance at Scandals, liked to watch the bodies move all smooth straight lines and angles. He knew no amount of rhythm could make his own body move in any way that didn't look ridiculous outside a football field. But he liked to watch the men dance, especially Sebastian. Knowing the taste of Sebastian's lips, knowing his smiles, and the things no one else in the dark dingy place knew made the movements, angles, and lines all that more pleasing to watch.

He thought of all this now as Sebastian looked at him with those silently calculating eyes. He tried to steal himself for the very real possibility of rejection; prepare himself for the probability of not being up to scratch, incomparable to the lean, bending, flexible bodies that had writhed so gracefully below Sebastian before.

He closed his eyes and wished not for the first time that he could be both less and more; less bulk and more substance, less force and more skill, less nerves and more momentum.

His eyes snapped open when he felt Sebastian's hands on him, running upward from his chest to his shoulders, hands curling at the nape of his neck. His own hands lay stupidly at his sides until Sebastian leaned in and pressed his lips with a sort of curious urge, and then his hands found their place, so impossibly right, at the curve of his back. He pulled Sebastian closer, willing his own body to be inconsequential.

He felt the murmurs against his lips, "You're tense."

"Nervous," he tried to shrug without upsetting the way they held each other.

Sebastian nosed at his neck and whispered against it, "I won't bite…unless you ask me to."

He laughed almost breathless with the feeling of Sebastian's stealthy fingers (graceful to every extent of his limbs) working away at the buttons of the shirt more than one person in his life had tried to burn. Sebastian never tried to change the way Dave dressed; he found it endearing rather than exasperating.

When Sebastian finally pushed the shirt off his shoulders Dave fell into his instincts. He crushed Sebastian to him, his lips insistent and demanding against the other boy's. Sebastian wasn't anyone's definition of tame, instantly pushing back against him, lips as impatient and desperate as his. Static equilibrium.

The blunt fingernails on his chest made his head swim. Moving through the damned dark curls of hair, raking over his skin, unwavering in their path.

Dave didn't like his body, didn't like its violence or its shape, but he liked the way it tingled and jumped under careful and dedicated examination.

_i like my body when it is with your body._

_It is so quite new a thing._

He remembers to remind himself to be gentle gentle gentle. He thinks he'll have to keep the little things in mind, like kissing before undressing, but it doesn't occur to him at all. When his always icy fingers touch the warmth of his skin there is no thought of comparison, no superiority in experience, or danger of speed.

Everything is a half-second too slow, and it'd be heart stopping and breathtaking if it weren't spurring him into actions more determined than he thought were possible without your shirt.

He pushes against his chest, palm pressed on the constant powerful beat of a heart discontent in its place within a body, pounding to escape. He pushes and waits but Dave goes only so far as sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling an arm around his waist and tugging him close.

The way his lips press against his stomach is unexpected, aimless and reverent, no path upwards or downwards. The hands over his sides grip with a frightened strength, but the thumbs ghost over the skin with featherlight pressure.

He finds his neck arched to direct the silent gasps for air and regains his composure long enough to step back and wrap his legs as securely as his addled brain can handle around Dave's waist.

He can't keep his hands to himself, but like Dave's lips their purpose is not single-minded but rather directed by an awestruck worship. Under the overheated skin the infrastructure of muscles and nerves fascinates him as if he'd never really experienced a body beneath his fingertips before.

The way an anxious gulp tenses and relaxes his neck, the goose bumps on the slope of his shoulders; it's almost as exciting as the strain in both of their jeans. Almost, but not quite.

_**Muscles better and nerves more.**_

_ **i like your body. i like what it does,**_

_ **i like its hows.**_

His back held tense and straight, he makes sure his hands don't shake as they move from Sebastian's sides up towards the outline of his ribs, like delicate reliefs on his skin as he stretches.

Sometimes he thinks Sebastian's bones are like the beams of steel that hold up bridges and monuments. The way they seem to control his movements with more agility than his own muscles ever could, it fascinates him how they seem to call out to be noticed from under the smoothness of skin.

He feels every movement amplified, his palms pressed up against the ridges of spine as Sebastian leans forward to capture his lips again, and his thoughts, and to push once more firm and reassuring back against his chest.

He rolls his shoulders, breathes in and out twice before he leans back and settles his hands back on Sebastian's hips, holding to the only anchor he has left. He can't look him in the eye, not yet, not ready for what he might see, so he looks at the shapes of Sebastian's collarbone as he hold himself like a tension bridge above him.

_**i like to feel the spine **_

_**of your body and its bones, and the trembling**_

_**-firm-smooth ness and which i will **_

_**again and again and again **_

_**kiss, **_

Sebastian's voice is quiet, as if they were somewhere sacred, "Dave."

He risks a glance at the other boy's eyes and feels his body relax. He doesn't exactly know what it is he sees in them, but it's not rejection or repulsion or disinterest. He's about to reach up when Sebastian leans down, catches his lips in the tenderest kiss yet and whispers, "How are you so perfect?"

He has to tell Dave what he evidently doesn't know, "You have no idea how sexy you are," he felt the boy under him laugh, a shy smile spreading across his lips, "That's hot."

Dave's hands were losing their shyness, but they were still gentle and curious, as if he were asking for permission for every inch he took. He was more than pleased to grant it, to guide the other boy's fingers as they fumbled, back to their nervous flirting, at the cold metal that buttoned his jeans.

Dave manages the zipper on his own and Sebastian pulls away, getting rid of the pants quickly because he has never had any patience for undressing and if he's going to have any tonight he's going to save it.

He runs his hands over the dark curls on Dave's chest again, watches as he battles to both flinch and move towards the feeling. He rakes his fingertips over and over again, draws shapes and letters and words, pressing his lips in trails that travel from navel to neck and back until the flinching has all but disappeared and his eyes are closed and his head thrown back.

_**i like kissing this and that of you,**_

_**i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz **_

_**of your electric fur**_

He did make an honest effort to apply every ounce of patience into getting rid of Dave's jeans but the heartbeats resounding in his body were causing some sort of interference because the next thing he was aware of was how perfectly unobstructed the feel of their skin was on each other.

The back of his mind told him that someone like Dave, big and muscled and clumsy and warm, that the noises that Sebastian would elicit from him would be gruff and grunting. But here he was, falling apart in sighs and moans that sounded like the angels crying glory as Sebastian's deft practiced fingers worked him open.

Dave has lost his sense of time. He thinks he may have been suffering so deliciously under Sebastian's fingers for hours or days but it's impossible to tell, until Sebastian leans close his fingers still sticky with lube grasping at his shoulder, "Ready?"

He thinks he'll never be able to speak again and wouldn't doubt that this was worth it, but he thinks he manages to whimper something that sounds like consent or at the very least nod.

Sebastian moves slowly, the anticipation and thrill are more than the usual fuck-driven excitement. Dave holds his breath, fingers clenching around the sheets and his eyes locked on Sebastian's without speaking a word. He always likes to top, likes the feelings of power and control, but this is somehow more thrilling, this vulnerability and trust. He's trusted.

They don't last long at all but it feels like ages. It feels like an eternity of unevenly paced thrusts, of the glide of sweat soaked skin, and the whispered words of cursing and worshiping.

Sebastian threads their fingers together, his left hand pressing Dave's right into the bed with shaking force while his free hand wraps around Dave, bringing him over with three firm strokes.

And it's the sight of him, of the broken cry and mumbled love of the boy falling to pieces below him that undoes him. He falls like a puppet with cut strings, feels like he'll fall forever but feels the pounding in his chest resonate against the body below him, and strong arms all muscle, nerves, and bones tie him back down.

_**and possibly i like the thrill**_

_**of under me you so quite new**_


End file.
